Starters' Playground
by Cr1mson5
Summary: Their first year on the team was supposed to be the best year of their lives. Instead, it was the worst thing that ever happened to them.
1. WakeUp Call

**Hey, guess what? You know what I don't own? Everything here except the plot of the story, which I obviously came up with myself.**

**Rating: T for violence, language, and maybe some character death later on, I'm not sure yet**

You know, joining the Justice League of America was always supposed to be a good thing.

It was supposed to mean that you were stepping up in the hero world, that you were considered one of the greatest. To fight alongside guys like Superman and Batman and girls like Wonder Woman and Black Canary, it was an honor. It meant that you were _worth _something to them. It meant that they thought they could use you on the team. And above all, it meant that they saw potential in you.

At least, that was what it was _supposed_ to mean.

Naïveté is abundant in the young, evidenced by yours truly. I thought all of that was true. It was a real sanctimonious, real pious picture, wasn't it, these superior beings who used their powers to protect us instead of becoming our overlords? It was a real nice thing to look up to, a master image that was so good that there was no way it wasn't true. Falsity was overruled by the examples they set in the works that they performed on a daily basis. If it wasn't true, then it was invented by the world's best con artist. And, like the stupid, gullible kid that I was, I bought into it. It was really the only reason I sought Batman out, the thought that I could be like them someday, maybe even be their partner someday.

Guess what I found out when I got on the inside? The best con artists in the world don't even have to be _from _this world.

The world would be horrified to find out about the things I saw within the first five weeks of being Robin. Sure, it was all fun and games and adventure for a while, but then, the true colors of the job—and my boss—came out. Being a sidekick or a protégé or whatever you want to call it didn't mean you got to help save the world. It meant you were a fomenter of the scheme, albeit unwillingly, that was slowly sucking in the whole Earth, and there was nothing you could do about it. For six full years, I was their good little puppet, going where they told me to go and doing what they told me to do for the sake of my own survival. Yeah, I'd seen what they called "making an example of someone". It was enough to make you sick to your stomach, the things they were willing to do to ensure their wishes were fulfilled. The only thing that kept me quiet in the face of those living nightmares the human race called heroes was the knowledge of what tended to happen to squealers. Those accidents, they're so unfortunate, you know? They always seem to get the people that have…special types of information, if you catch my drift.

Joining the JLA was always supposed to be a good thing. And, once upon a time, I'm sure it was. But that was before the world got meaner, before the heroes that protected it grew so jaded that right and wrong meant the same thing to them. They got what they wanted, one way or another, and there was no getting around it. And if you got in the way, well, then, they figured that they had every right to eliminate the problem, no matter who it was. So, it wasn't too difficult to imagine that we new recruits were all smiles on the outside but all fear and anxiousness on the inside when we were granted JLA membership. Because not even bona fide members, long-timers like Superman or Green Arrow, were totally safe from the wrath of their comrades, let me assure you.

I knew what'd happened to the bolder ones, the ones who got tired of living a lie and wanted to expose the evils they lived with every day to the world. It was easy enough to wipe them off the face of the planet. Just hire someone to take them out and write them off as a martyr for the cause of heroism. After all, all good heroes should be willing to give their lives for what they do, right?

Turning thirteen was a wake-up call with a chilling message: In this business, _everybody_ is a bad guy, including the so-called "heroes".

Turning nineteen was an entrance into a whole new world with an even worse truth to comprehend: Mess with your superiors, and you'll end up as just another name on a memorial somewhere.

I wasn't willing to test it, not at first. But, you know…everybody needs to be free. And it's much easier to revolt when you've got friends to stand beside you.


	2. Welcome to the JLA

I knew they had special plans for us the second we were initiated, because it was all very, very public. Usually, it wasn't a big ceremony, just a quiet meeting at the Hall of Justice or the Watchtower and then you showed up at the next mission unannounced, and people mostly got the picture. Us, however, we came on in a big, flashy, flamboyant way, so I figured I couldn't expect to last too much longer on the team. After all, the last few times they'd done this, it usually meant the new recruit had about four, or maybe, if they were lucky, six, months left to live before getting bumped off.

The JLA was supposed to show up in Washington, D.C., anyway, so that they could receive some kind of Medal of Honor from the President—yet again. Their excuse was that they wanted to take the opportunity to honor their newest members in front of the people they'd be protecting from then on as members of the League. I had to remind myself to hold my tongue and roll with it. _Can't give them a reason to kill you now, _I kept thinking.

After they got their medal, Superman dominated the podium and gave some tedious, mind-numbing speech about how much they appreciate the young people who are so willing to join their quest and how flattering, but humbling, it can be to have someone that age looking up to you for guidance and blah, blah, blah. I tried to look excited, really, I did. Rose even nudged me and muttered out of the side of her mouth, "Smile. Look dead and you'll _be _dead." But the most I managed was a grimace and a hope that the press would chalk it up to my being a Bat.

"I know, I know," I replied, meaning to have every bit of testiness in it that I did. "I just want this press party to be over with so I can go back to Gotham."

"What, you don't call it home?"

I shook my head with such a slight motion that it was nearly imperceptible, like, you'd need to zoom in a lot to see it. "Not anymore, I don't."

"Which is why," Superman boomed at the podium, "I am proud to introduce to you the newest young members of our team."

_Here it comes, _I thought to myself, squirming uncomfortably in my seat on the stage. _It's the beginning of the end for you, Drake. Count your seconds, you don't have many of them left._

In case you couldn't tell, I'm no optimist. I've learned better.

"Blue Beetle!"

Jaime stood and sauntered to the front of the stage, putting on his best showman's smile and waving to the cheering crowd. I already knew that I was going to come to resent that kid, because he had such a good handle on the situation. He was playing this perfectly, playing the spectators like a hand of cards in poker. Sure, it was pretty innocent right now, but if you twist it in just the right way, you get somebody who's mastered the fine art of deception. The League would like him. He'd probably outlive us all for that.

"Red Arrow!"

Mia stood up next, slinging her bow over her right shoulder and giving a good wave. I couldn't see her face, but I was guessing she was playing it like most of the Arrows do: obnoxiously cocky and laid-back. I also picked up that it's mostly safest to just act like certain traits run in the "family", even if they don't. It's all in the showmanship, so far something that everybody else seemed to have down pat. Mia would last long, too. Maybe not as long as Jaime might, but still a lot longer than me, I figured.

"Zatara!"

I felt the corner of my mouth begin to curl upward into a sneer of disgust, but I forced it back down, hoping it looked like nothing more than just a twitch. Zachary Zatara was, for lack of a better term, a stupid, spoiled brat. He'd never been anything other than a jerk to me, and I didn't like him very much—or at all, for that matter. And, believe me, I wasn't the only one. So, I figured that he'd probably go once everybody got tired of listening to him moan and complain, and even his cousin, Zatanna, could do nothing about that, could do nothing to save him. (Not that even she would want to, but, hey, you know the drill.)

"Ravager!"

Rose stood up next to me, making sure her swords didn't clatter against her chair. Looking out at the people, I saw a few faces turn pale, although they all kept smiling. I, myself, couldn't stop the chill that ran through my veins whenever she spoke to me or glanced at me. It wasn't romance; it was the acutest sense of fear. There was just something about her that said, "Back off. I'm dangerous." So she wasn't much of an actor, but her brutal honesty still worked for the League. People couldn't _help_ but be scared of Rose Wilson, daughter of the infamous Deathstroke the Terminator. At the very least, she could come in handy as the intimidation factor. No telling how long they'd need her for that.

"And Red Robin!"

I pushed myself onto my feet and stepped forward so that I was shoulder-to-shoulder with the others. Camera flashes went off all around me, blindingly bright and unmistakably annoying. I clasped my hands behind my back and stood tall, trying my best to seem unbothered by it all. But the reality of the situation was that the white bursts of light that assaulted my vision turned every one of the hundreds of smiling, happy, excited faces into sinister, bloody sneers. I didn't see my adoring fans out there; I saw my victims, the people I'd have to hurt through my actions with the League. Their pearly white teeth vanished, leaving gaping holes that dripped blood onto skin that was bruised and deathly pale. Their perfectly combed and styled hair became matted, tangled messes atop their heads. Their designer clothes tore, becoming rags whose tears showed ugly wounds on their starved, skeletal bodies. Shackles and chains appeared on their wrists and ankles, and they were suddenly moving towards me with amazing speed, running despite their weighty fetters, closing in around me, pulling me down, screaming, "Why won't you help us? Why won't you do something?" And their outraged fists drew blood at every strike, and then I was just like them, chained by my own lies, my own participation in the game…

I sucked in a deep breath to rid myself of the waking nightmare, and the scores of excited people were back, looking fresh and clean and very free. I hated myself for not being able to live up to what they thought I was, but what could I do? I was one guy, flesh and blood, who could be killed in hundreds of different ways, and I didn't really want to rush my death. Besides, this couldn't go on forever…could it?

"Ladies and gentlemen, my fellow heroes," Superman was saying, extending a hand in our direction to indicate us. "Please welcome the newest additions to the Justice League of America!"

Applause erupted all around us, along with shouts of joy and enthusiasm. _These people really are happy for us, _I thought, and it made me want to cry. _Don't clap for this. Don't clap for us. We're using you._

I heard some of the yells, which deepened the pain. _Welcome to the JLA, they say. Yeah, welcome to the one place you always wanted to be. Congratulations, your dream came true._

_And the countdown begins._


End file.
